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Rocco looks deflated, and after eyeing his gun, considering whether I could hold it while he drives, he makes the wise decision of choosing neither.
“Fine. I’ll drive, but once we get to that roadhouse, you’re out, Portello,” he growls, spinning the wheels in the mud as we all get moving again.
“Thanks,” Maria murmurs, squeezing my arm gently in what I know is the first real contact she’s had with a real person her whole life.
Okay, maybe the second real person.
“Who are you meeting?” I whisper to her, figuring she must have someone waiting for her.
“Someone who has no idea who I really am,” she says, relieved, settling back into the seat with her hair a mess and make-up to match.
The happiest runaway once she spots the neon glow of the roadhouse.
Rocco pulls off to the side, letting the car come to a stop in some bushes.
“A man after my own heart,” Maria smiles, leaning forward to remind Rocco about keeping one of the cases.
“I’ll leave the biggest one. Hope you make it out, wherever you’re headed,” she tells us both in a smoky voice before clutching her bags and leaving the car without another word.
I watch her lithe figure move swiftly through the night, and then suddenly, like a cat, she’s gone.
“Open the case,” Rocco says in a low tone, sounding like he’s giving me an order rather than asking me.
But my own curiosity has no problems taking instructions.
“Nice luggage,” I remark, running my fingers across the hand stitching, estimating the cost.
I secretly wonder if I could ever have a suitcase like this for myself one day.
“Open it!” Rocco barks, and with a jump of nerves, my fingers snap the locks open.
“Holy shit,” Rocco murmurs. “That’snotwhat I was expecting.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
Rocky
“Is that what I think it is?” Jasmine asks, making a face like she’s about to faint again.
“It looks like it,” I concur. Lifting a wad from the suitcase crammed with fresh bills, smelling mint, straight up.
The kind of freshly minted cash only well-connected criminals ever seem to have.
Sure, we handle ‘dirty money’ every day, but it’s actually never been circulated. Most of what I see still has the original mint mark packaging.
“Why would she…?” Jasmine starts to ask, but recalling the weight of her other two bags as I rub my shoulder, I figure Maria’s left behind just a portion of what she was carrying.
“Traveling light, I guess,” I smile, relieved. At least we have some cash of our own now.
My own finances, once my family discovers what’s really happened, might not be so free-flowing.
But I don’t care about money right now.
I’ve got Jasmine, and my main priority is getting her someplace safe and warm.
Right after I feed us both, that is.
I’m unusually weak with fatigue. And it’s not just from the day I’m having.
